


if this is how we fall apart

by ribosome



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Kissing, Lance Hunk and Pidge are roommates, M/M, Making Up, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Lance (Voltron), keith has bipolar depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribosome/pseuds/ribosome
Summary: “I think!” Hunk starts abruptly, causing Pidge beside him to flinch and knock her pen into the air, “I think, uh—Guys, Keith and Lance have been dating for more than three months and notoncehave they gone on a date. It’s absurd!”The pen hits Shiro’s forehead. He closes his eyes for ten seconds and Pidge looks at Hunk incredulously. Allura looks up from the textbook, her interest piqued.“I’m just curious,” Shiro says. His eyes are still closed and Hunk is a little scared. “What does that have to do with the ethnos that settled in the Caribbean over a thousand years ago?”(or, keith and lance get into a fight the same week that the gang plans a surprise date night for them.)





	if this is how we fall apart

**Author's Note:**

> this actually isn't connected to my other fic tmtmw although it's practically the same universe.
> 
> i've been meaning to pop this baby out for a while now. i started writing this in like....january, left it alone, then came back to it after season 5. so i consider this my First Official Klance Fic. lord help me i'm back on my bullshit
> 
> enjoy!!!

* * *

“I think!” Hunk starts abruptly, causing Pidge beside him to flinch and knock her pen into the air, “I think, uh—Guys, Keith and Lance have been dating for more than three months and not _once_ have they gone on a date. It’s absurd!”

The pen hits Shiro’s forehead. He closes his eyes for ten seconds and Pidge looks at Hunk incredulously. Allura looks up from the textbook, her interest piqued.

“I’m just curious,” Shiro says. His eyes are still closed and Hunk is a little scared. “What does that have to do with the ethnos that settled in the Caribbean over a thousand years ago?”

Right... They were helping Allura outline her essay. But they can’t blame Hunk for getting a little sidetracked; they were seated on a table outside the mess hall with the sun shining and the birds chirping. Everything was a little distracting, and focusing on his friends’ problems was more fun than writing an essay.

Apparently, Allura thought the same as she slowly closed the textbook and sat up straighter. “He does have a point.”

“I was writing down an excellent argument for her third paragraph, too,” Pidge muttered, reaching for her pen under the table.

Shiro stares at Allura’s closed textbook with what could only be described as defeat.

“I’m just saying,” Hunk says, putting his hands up defensively, “I think it sucks that they haven’t had the time to go out on a real date. They deserve it, you know? Lance told me they’ve been trying to plan one but both their class and work schedules always conflict. Absolutely absurd. And Shiro, I know you want us to just focus on our assignments because our finals are coming up, but I _strongly_ believe in the happiness of my friends and–”

“No, I agree with you.”

The three teens collectively snap their heads to Shiro.

His shoulders stiffen. “What?”

“Dude, you triggered Shiro’s fun button,” Pidge says to Hunk in awe. “That hasn’t happened for thirty years.”

Shiro’s face explodes into a blush. “I am _not_ that old–”

Hunk eagerly jumps onto the opportunity before it could slip away. “Well, wow, I guess this is happening then—I think we should surprise them!”

Pidge knits her eyebrows together doubtfully. “Keith isn’t exactly a fan of surprises.”

“Then he can learn to be!”

“How should we go about this?” Allura asks, and Hunk feels mildly proud that he was able to shift her into Serious Leader Mode.

Shiro rubs his chin pensively. His eyes run over each teen, studying them closely. “... I have a few ideas.”

 

* * *

 

The door softly clicks shut behind Keith as he enters his apartment and sets his bag on the floor. He glances around the unlit living area, quiet and still. Lance must be asleep in his bedroom then. Keith recalls how Lance had been lounging on the couch before he left, laughing at some stupid sitcom that was playing on the TV and hanging his legs over the armrest.

At the time, Keith was not in his best mood. He often wasn't. But something had left him feeling crummy and broken, something he couldn't define or explain with words. It was just... a dry and rough emptiness in his chest. He stood in the archway of the living area watching Lance snicker at a dumb joke one of the characters delivered, and his fingernails dug into his arms. He breathed deep, but his heart still pumped hard, shallow beats.

His face must have given himself away because before he’d even noticed, Lance brought his legs back to the ground and was by his side in less than a second.

Lance gently grabbed his wrist and Keith jerked in surprise. Lance’s hands shot up in defense. “Hey, sorry, sorry! You just look really... down.”

Keith cleared his throat. “No, I’m—I’m fine.”

Lance favored him a skeptical look. “You know I understand if you’re having an episode–”

“Not that,” Keith lied, jaw tight.

Lance sighed and brought his hands back up to hold Keith’s face. Whether or not the warmth was coming from his palms or Keith's cheeks, Lance decided not to comment—Silence is golden, like Keith once told him when he wouldn't stop rambling about a girl he liked before they had started dating. Lance let his touch skim across Keith's skin, and Keith's knees almost bucked. Why couldn't he breathe when Lance looked at him like that? As if his legs weren't already reduced to jelly, Lance pulled him forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Like magic, his muscles went lax and he dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder, sliding his arms around his waist.

Lance pulled him into the embrace, carding his fingers through Keith's hair. “You don't have to tell me what's wrong. Just know I'm here for you,” he said patiently.

Keith’s eyebrows crinkled; an unpleasant feeling began to fester underneath the warmth of Lance’s affection. He breathed deep again, and Lance kissed his temple. “I’m here, okay?” he reassured, fingers grazing over Keith's scalp.

Lance hesitated. “I...” He steeled himself, and his voice came out in a sigh, as if the words had taken his breath with them. “I love you.”

Keith wouldn't exactly say that time stopped at that moment—In retrospect, it was more like time _crashed_. Everything came to a screeching halt, like tires scraping against asphalt or a song cutting off with a record scratch. It was bittersweet, what with his heart bursting like fireworks and his eyes swelling with tears, but as he processed the words his chest drained and he was left even emptier.

He didn't deserve a love like this.

Lance's heart pumped erratically under Keith's ear. His hand stiffened where it was tangled in Keith's hair, and he gave a short, awkward laugh.

“Keith?” he asked, uncertain, “You can—You don't have to... um–”

Keith pulled away from the embrace, ignoring the way Lance's arms remained frozen in the air, and turned away to snatch his jacket by the front door.

He shoved his arms into the sleeves, averting his gaze. “I’m gonna go, um, drive around the city. I just,” he grabbed his keys off the counter, “need to clear my head for a little bit. I’ll be back by eleven. Don't wait up.”

Lance's voice was small when he said, “Okay.”

Keith was out the door before he even finished.

Minutes turned into hours, and he thought that maybe if he waited long enough he would be able to slip into bed while Lance was sleeping and the whole incident would be put behind them. But now, as he pulls out his phone, he winces at Lance’s missed calls and texts and throws that idea into the mental trash bin. He lets out a breath, chest tense, and makes his way through the strangely foreboding hall and to his bedroom.

He opens the door and freezes upon entering. Lance is sitting upright on one side of the bed with his knees up. Something in Keith’s heart clenches when he sees Lance’s phone face-up on the pillow beside him.

Keith starts, “You–”

“Why didn’t you respond?” Lance asks. He doesn’t sound angry right away, so Keith doesn’t exactly know how to approach the question. After watching Keith’s face shift from surprised to clueless about five times, Lance sighs, presses his palm to his temple and drawls out, “It’s almost _two_ in the morning.”

Keith frowns. “I told you not to wait for me.”

“You can’t just ask me to do that, knowing you!”

Sensing an argument on the horizon, Keith closes his eyes, frustrated, and begins to undress. Lance watches as he kicks his shoes off and then drops his pants and tosses them into his closet, none too organized. “We could talk about this in the morning.”

Lance laughs dryly. “You made me wait this long ‘til you got home, so I shouldn't have to wait any longer for an explanation and apology.”

Keith roughly tugs his shirt over his head. “What do I need to _apologize_ for?”

Lance finds himself shocked at the genuine confusion in Keith’s voice. “Are you serious?”

“I told you I’d be out late. You didn’t have to lose sleep over this. What the hell are you bothered about?” he mutters, sitting on his side of the bed and peeling off his socks.

Lance frowns at Keith’s bare back. “I’m bothered because you said you’d be back by eleven and when midnight rolled around, I got worried! Sue me!” Even with his back turned, Keith could feel Lance’s animated hand gestures as he talked with the way the bed shifted. It pissed him off.

And then Lance keeps talking, “You know, I’m really tired of you doing this. Like, really fucking sick of it–”

“Of _what_?”

“Acting like—like I overreact to everything!”

Keith’s eyebrows knit together. That's the entire foundation of who Lance is; dramatic and over the top. “Because you do.”

Lance groans behind his hands and falls onto the pillow. “No, I don’t!” he yells, voice muffled by his hands. Keith rolls his eyes and plugs his phone into his charger. When Lance finally pulls his hands away and his arms flop to his sides, he looks to the side somberly. “You haven’t explained yourself.”

That makes Keith a little angrier. “I don’t need to explain myself. Go to sleep.” He reaches over to turn off the lamp on his end table. Darkness engulfs the room, but doesn’t dispel Lance’s apparent urge to rile Keith up.

“So that’s it then?” Lance asks, and Keith’s stomach turns at his bitter tone, “We’re just not gonna talk about this?”

Keith releases a sharp sigh. “Why do we even need to? I was just home a few hours late, it’s not a big deal.”

Lance only watches as Keith slips under the covers, still with his back turned to him and huffing angry breaths. “It is a big deal,” Lance insists, “It’s–”

“Can you just _back off_!?” Keith snaps, curling into himself. “I just want to sleep!”

Lance is quiet after that, and Keith is temporarily thankful for it until he feels Lance get under the covers next to him and realizes that the brevity of the argument provided no closure. He’s suddenly hyper aware of every movement Lance makes—he could feel him shift when he lied down with his back to Keith. Keith’s shoulders stiffen when he hears a sniffle. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to fall asleep. Anything but this uncomfortably thick silence.

After a few minutes, he can tell Lance has fallen asleep before him, so he turns around, making as little noise as possible, and hesitantly reaches out. His fingers run carefully through Lance’s hair, grazing down Lance’s neck to his shoulders, then his waist, and it settles there. He wants to shimmy closer, wrap his arms around Lance and never let him go. But it doesn’t feel right, so he pulls his hand back and ends up staring at Lance’s head and praying for everything to be fine in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Everything is not fine in the morning.

Keith wakes up to an empty bed. Eyes groggy and bleary, he sits upright and grabs his phone, seeing a text from Lance saying he went back home. The fact alone that Lance took the time and energy to get dressed and leave before noon is enough to set off alarms in Keith’s head.

Then, strangely, he sees a text sent around the same time that morning, but by his _boss._ Keith eyes it warily; his boss never texted him, excluding the one time he earned a raise two months ago. He opens it, expecting the worst, but instead...

_(10:02 AM) Hey, Keith! Just wanted to let you know you’ve earned a paid vacation day for this Saturday. See you Sunday, kid._

He cringes at the word “kid," but otherwise is left dumbfounded. A vacation day... His boss hated giving days off to his employees, especially on the weekends. That’s when the movie theaters are usually packed, and he needed every one of them to man the ticket booths. So why would—Okay, he’s not going to waste his time thinking about this right now.

He scrolls to Lance’s contact and presses the call button, putting his phone up to his ear expectantly. It rings five times before Lance picks up. That’s two more rings than usual, but he decides not to dwell on it when Lance answers, “Hello?” with no malice in his voice.

“Lance,” Keith breathes, “Hey, I–”

“I’m kind of busy right now,” Lance interrupts.

Keith blinks. “Oh.”

“Yup. Bye.”

“No–! Wait, Jesus,” Keith says quickly, and is relieved to see Lance is still on the line. When he’s met with silence, Keith talks unprompted, albeit unsettled. “About last night... It’s morning, and I said we’d talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Keith does a mental double-take. “What? Wh—Why not?”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal. Isn't that right?”

Ouch. Keith could compare the feeling that just went through him to being stabbed in the leg. “Lance,” Keith hisses, “Tell me you're joking right now.”

He could almost _feel_ Lance bristle on the other end. “‘Cause that's what I’m supposed to do, right? Cover up my feelings with jokes and act like everything's fine?”

“I’m just— _confused_!” Keith throws his free hand up desperately, as if beckoning some kind of godly answer. “I don't get why you're acting like this all of a sudden!”

Silence follows for a few moments. Keith thinks that Lance may have hung up, until his voice comes back small and vulnerable. “Keith, I just... don’t want to talk to you right now.” A pause. “Or for a while.”

Keith’s hand steadily falls back onto his lap. “You’re seriously mad at me?” He chooses to ask, because at first he thought he was reading too much into it, but now his heart is sinking faster than his body can handle.

He hears Lance laugh without humor. “Yeah. I am. Bye.”

The line cuts off after that, and Keith sits in stunned silence for five minutes before he remembers he has to get dressed for class.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, let me just start off by saying how unfair it is that you tempted me with the discount they’ve got on facials this week,” Lance points out as Allura pulls him through the front doors of the spa by his wrist. He tries to ignore the sweet lavender scent invading his senses and the beautiful sight of the polished wooden walls. “But,” he pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’m broke! Until Friday, at least. Regardless,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I can’t do this today.”

“I took that into consideration,” Allura says, waving a spa concierge over to them. She smiles brightly at Lance. “Which is why I’m paying for your treatments.”

Lance gapes at her like a fish, then furiously shakes his head. “Nope. No way. I’m not letting you splurge your money on me.”

The concierge hands Allura two folded robes and two pairs of slippers. Allura dispends them to Lance, and he takes them without a second thought. Curse him and his stupid weakness for being pampered. “I haven’t been to the spa since last summer,” he whimpers, inhaling the fresh scent of the robe. He glares at Allura, who’s smirking at him. “I still don’t like that you’re spending so much money on me. I’m paying you back as soon as I can.”

The concierge guides them out of the waiting room and Allura puts her hand on Lance’s shoulder, and at the soft look in her eyes he doesn’t feel as tense anymore. It’s weirdly reminiscent of his older sister. “Take it as a gift on my part,” Allura says easily.

They enter a room with two facial beds and Lance feels giddy when he sees the bowls of the facial mixture with its brushes at the sides. He sighs dreamily.

Yeah. He deserves this.

 

* * *

 

When Keith shows up to Lance’s apartment, he half expects Hunk to answer the door and turn him away with some bullshit excuse that Lance can’t see him at the moment, but he uses his spare to walk right in and is met with silence. Keith knows Lance doesn’t have work or classes on Tuesday evenings. It’s the entire reason he even stayed over Keith’s place the night before. Maybe he took an extra shift at the cafe? He barely registers Pidge peeking out from the wall that separates the main entrance and the living-room-slash-kitchen.

“Hey,” she says, ignoring how Keith flinches as his train of thought is interrupted. “What are you doing here?”

Keith takes off his jacket and tosses it on the couch. “Is Hunk here?”

“He’s still in class.”

“And... Lance?”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “He was actually here earlier, but then he left with Allura after about an hour.”

Keith plops onto the couch and leans his head back as Pidge continues typing on her laptop from where she’s seated on the island. After a few beats, Keith sheepishly admits, “I think we’re in a fight.”

Pidge pauses. “What?”

Keith stares bashfully at the floor, away from Pidge's line of sight. “I got home late last night and... we had an argument. When I woke up he was gone. Then I called him and he said he was mad at me. So I think we’re in a fight.”

Pidge’s face is eerily neutral. Keith is almost creeped out by how still she is. Then Pidge blinks and asks, “How late is ‘late’?”

Keith scratches the back of his neck. “Two A.M.”

“... Dude.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his eyebrows creasing. “I know.”

The front door opens and Keith’s heart jumps, expecting Lance to walk in, but he visibly deflates when he sees Shiro stepping in and closing the door behind him. Pidge dryly mutters something about their apartment becoming a hangout spot as Shiro sheds off his jacket and hangs it by the door. Shiro stops in his tracks when he sees Keith on the couch, eyes quickly darting to Pidge, who then beckons him urgently.

“Hey,” she says to Keith, rather loudly. Keith’s face scrunches up at the obnoxious tone. Pidge throws a thumb in the direction of her bedroom down the hall. “I forgot to bring out my charger. Can you get it for me?”

“Why don’t you just–”

“Let me rephrase that. _Go get my charger_.”

Keith groans childishly before getting to his feet and sulking toward Pidge’s room. She calls out, “It’s in one of the drawers of my end table and if you don’t find it there, then it’s probably under my bed!”

She gets a distant “Whatever,” in return.

Pidge turns around to grin impishly at Shiro. “It’s not even in my room.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and puts his hand on his hip. “How can we discuss the plan for Saturday if he’s here?”

Pidge adjusts her glasses and returns her attention to the essay she was writing. “I told you to just text me.”

“Plans are best dis–”

“Discussed in person, yada-yada.” She shrugs, “I don’t know, I think you could benefit from using your phone for what it was literally made to do.”

“And turn into you? Not likely,” Shiro deadpans. “Did you speak to their bosses?”

“Oh, I spoke to them, alright. I spoke to them good,” she says, and before Shiro can ask _what the fuck that’s supposed to mean_ she carries on with, “But I think we may have run into a wall.”

Shiro squints. “I don’t follow.”

“Shiro,” Pidge whispers, “Keith and Lance got into a fight.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. “What?” He lowers his voice to match her whisper, “When?”

“Last night.”

“Was it... a bad fight?”

“I thought something might’ve been up when Lance came home earlier than usual and didn’t get mad when he found out I ate his parfait. And his mini cheesecake.”

“Pidge.”

“Right, yeah, the point is he was acting a little weird, so yes... it seems like it was a bad fight.”

Shiro rubs circles into his temples.

Down the hall, Keith yells, “Pidge, where is this _fucking_ charger?”

Pidge smacks her teeth and yells back, “I said to check under the bed!”

“I already checked!”

Pidge screams, “Then _check again_!” She switches back to a disturbingly calm demeanor when she regards Shiro again. “I think we might have to reschedule the date we set up.”

Shiro blinks out of his stupor to whisper, “But you already got the vacation day set up! It’s the only day they’ll be able to— _heyyy, Keith_.”

Keith trudges back into the living area aiming a scowl at Pidge. She glances at the couch and points. “Oh, look, it’s actually right there! Right next to where you were sitting before you stood up. Pass it to me.”

Keith stares at Pidge. He closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Allura pulls out her ringing phone and picks up the call, sticking the straw of her strawberry smoothie in her mouth. Some summer pop song blasts from the speakers of the juice bar, bouncing off the multi-colored walls.

“Hello,” she chirps into her phone.

Across from her, Lance’s face is turning a concerning shade of purple as he tries—and fails—to blow bubbles into his mango-banana smoothie.

“We have a bit of a... problem,” Hunk responds on the other line.

Allura ceases her sipping and frowns. Her eyes briefly flick to Lance. Still purple. “What do you mean?”

“Has Lance, like, mentioned Keith or anything?”

Allura looks at Lance dejectedly slurping his smoothie and... nope, he hadn’t spoken a word of his boyfriend since she picked him up. In fact, he hadn’t even touched his phone all afternoon. Allura narrows her eyes; she’d been suspicious when he turned his phone off earlier that day with the excuse that it was overheating. Lance would let his phone catch on fire before he abandoned any conversation he was having with a friend.

“... No.”

“Oh man. Ohhh man, this is bad.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Lance looks up at that, eyebrow raising. “Everything alright?”

Allura nods quickly, but her smile fades as Hunk talks. “Keith and Lance are apparently in a fight, or had a fight. Either way, they’re kinda not on speaking terms right now.”

Allura sighs, leaning her cheek on her knuckles as Lance stares at her with an innocent question in his eyes. “Just our luck,” she mutters.

 

* * *

 

Keith munches on a sugar cookie, perched across Pidge on the stool of the island. “My boss gave me a day off this weekend,” he mentions. “Which is weird. I usually have to fucking grovel for vacation days.”

Shiro leans his elbow on the counter and shares an inconspicuous look with Pidge. He turns back to Keith and casually says, “Maybe you could spend the day with Lance.”

Keith’s eyebrows drop into a frown.

Pidge clears her throat and unleashes her worst acting skills possible. “Shiro, did you not hear!? Keith and Lance have gotten into a,” she peeks at her palm, “scrap.”

Keith swallows the next sugar cookie whole as Pidge looks at Shiro, bewildered, and mouths “ _Scrap_?”

Shiro shrugs. “It was the first thing I thought of,” he mumbles, wincing at how Keith has stuffed his mouth full of cookies.

“You could’ve just said ‘fight’ but _‘scrap’_ is what comes to mind?” Pidge whispers back, “Okay, you and I really need to have a serious talk–”

“I don't know what to do,” Keith says sullenly, hands laced at the back of his neck as his head hangs low.

Shiro’s eyes soften at the sight. It's sad, and almost a little pitiful, the way he seems lost and confused. After being filled in on the situation via text (which was anxiety-inducing, considering Keith was right in front of them when Pidge typed and sent it), he thought that maybe the fight was blown a bit out of proportion. But he knows Keith, and he knows how Keith acts when he's aware that he's done something wrong. Defensive at first, but as time goes on the guilt starts to eat at him.

Shiro offers a gentle smile and swings his left arm over Keith’s shoulders, squeezing affectionately. “I know what’d make you feel better.”

Keith lifts his head enough to peek at Shiro suspiciously. “You're not going to tell me to just talk to Lance and communicate with him?”

Shiro’s smile freezes on his face. Pidge curses under her breath. He wouldn't be able to resist laying down wise and mature advice, not by a long shot. But Shiro has proved himself to be a man full of surprises this week, which is why he snorts and says, “Definitely not. You two need your space.”

Pidge’s jaw drops.

Shiro wants to die. That advice may be perfectly sound in certain situations, but it's not applicable to theirs and he’s subconsciously setting Keith up for failure, oh _God–_

Nevertheless, Shiro beams and urges, “You should stay over my place Friday night. We could hang out and relax, and it could get your mind off things. What do you think of that?”

Keith looks down pensively, and then he relents. “Alright,” he sighs, “What's the harm?”

Keith turns away to grab another sugar cookie, allowing Shiro to shoot a proud smirk Pidge’s way. She gives him the finger.

 

* * *

 

“—and you won't believe this, Anna gave me the day off for Saturday!”

Allura perks up suddenly, eyes shooting up to meet Lance’s. “Did she now?”

Lance nods with excitement and raises his arms up to cross them behind his head. He leans back, smirking. “Must be all the charm I’ve been throwing her way lately. Can't resist this boyishly handsome face.”

Allura smiles to herself, reveling in the powerful feeling of knowing what he doesn't. “So,” she says, nonchalantly mixing what's left of her smoothie with her straw, “We should go out into the city Saturday night.”

Lance raises an eyebrow and lets his arms fall back down. He looks off to the side, considering it. “That would be really fun, but... I dunno. I’m not really in a let’s-go-hit-the-city mood right now.”

Allura nods in understanding, and then lays the bait. “We could invite Keith to come.”

His face twists into a look of annoyance. “No, that's—I’m mad at him, so–”

“ _What_?” Allura gasps. She leans forward with apt interest. “What happened?”

Lance sighs, frustration clear on his face at the thought of it. He’d hoped to slip away from the problem the moment he stepped through the doors of the spa earlier that day. “I’ll... fill you in later,” he reluctantly says.

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” she assures him, “but I'd still love for us to go out on Saturday. Somewhere nice, but very lowkey. How's that sound?”

Lance can't say no to those big blue eyes. “Fine, fine,” he gives into her. He guides his smoothie’s straw to his mouth and gazes out the window beside their booth. “What could go wrong?”

 

* * *

 

Hunk strolls into the apartment later at night, humming a happy tune and hanging his keys on the rack by the door. He discards his jacket on a hook, and bounds to the kitchen, where Pidge is sitting atop the bar stool, leisurely drinking a cup of milk and grimacing to herself.

Hunk skids to a halt when he spots the empty kitchen counter. Pidge looks up at him.

“Where the hell are my sugar cookies?”

 

* * *

 

Saturday finally comes, and it's a mess.

Keith hasn't seen or heard from Lance in four days. He can’t say he’s impressed; it wouldn’t be hard to find a way to maneuver around their routine of seeing each other most of the week in quick, brief moments.

He's embarrassed to find himself staring at his phone at times, waiting for his caller ID to pop up. Friday night, from the comfort of Shiro’s guest bed, he hovered over Lance’s contact, spending what felt like hours figuring out what to say.

What _could_ he say? Hi? I miss you? Please just talk to me. Tell me you won't leave me. I love you back.

In the end, he angrily tossed his phone, ripping it from its charger, and retreated under his covers despite the sweltering heat of the room. He lets out a noise between a sigh and a growl when he retrieves his phone in the morning and sees the vein-like crack in its top left corner.

Lance isn’t doing any better. He wants so badly to talk to Keith, to tell him that he still wants him, but going back would bury the whole argument and he is _not_ the wrong one in this fight. His heart burns when he doesn't hear from Keith for several days. He can't explain how much he yearns for an apology, for Keith to just acknowledge how he feels—It never comes.

He’s spent a good portion of the week crying out his feelings to Hunk, but it never feels like enough. Friday night, Hunk softly laid a hand on Lance’s bicep. “It's okay, man. It's only been a few days, you’ll come back to each other soon.”

And although Lance appreciates his support, Hunk doesn't understand how wrong it feels; this forced separation, unnecessary and pointless, and the only one to blame for it is himself.

Saturday morning, he wakes up to dozens of notifications. He picks up his phone, scrolls through them, and drops it back onto the end table. None from Keith.

 

* * *

 

Keith drags his feet into the kitchen at nine in the morning and Shiro’s already at the stove flipping a pancake. He's wearing a pink apron Hunk got him for his birthday that says _Follow The Leader_.

“What are you doing,” Shiro says flatly.

Keith raises his eyebrows innocently, angling his phone’s camera away. “Nothing, just,” he points the camera in random directions, “testing out the... lighting and stuff.”

Shiro stares at him with dead eyes. He turns back and plops the pancake onto a stack, offering the plate to Keith.

Keith steps forward and prods it with his finger. “You sure this is safe to eat?”

“Quit being an ass and take your food.”

Keith grabs the plate and dodges when Shiro tries to nudge his head. He sits down at the dinner table and grabs the strawberry syrup waiting for him to drench his pancakes in.

As Shiro takes a seat beside him, Keith says with his mouth full, “I should get going soon.”

Shiro clears his throat and sets his coffee down on a coaster. “So soon? We were supposed to hang out today.”

“Yeah, but,” Keith wipes some syrup dripping down his chin, “I have to finish this essay I have due tomorrow night.”

“You could always just use my desktop,” Shiro suggests. “Besides, we haven't spent this much time together since winter break!” He sighs forlornly, “You've abandoned me for your boyfriend.”

Keith slows his chewing. He digs his fork into a thick piece of pancake. “I don't even know if he still wants to _be_ my boyfriend...”

Shiro drops all signs of humor and puts a hand on Keith's shoulder. “Hey, don’t dwell on it too much, okay? Everything will be fine. You've gotten through worse arguments with him.”

“But those were before we dated,” Keith mumbles. “Things are different now and... I think he expects a lot from me. Maybe,” he swallows as his eyes start to sting, “Maybe more than I can give him.”

Shiro shakes Keith with the hand attached to his shoulder. “Listen to yourself, Keith,” he orders. “I know you. You'd part the seas just to put a smile on his face, and you still think you're not good enough for him? You _are_ ,” Shiro reassures him, “You are good enough.”

Keith gives him a wobbly smile and shrugs the hand off his shoulder, casting his eyes away. “Thanks for that.”

Shiro grabs his coffee and sips. “All in a day's work. Now, just sit back and relax. Take the day to yourself and I’ll drive you back home around six.”

Keith pushes around a chunk of his food. “Yeah, sounds good. And Shiro?”

“Hm?”

Keith drops his fork onto the plate. “Those pancakes were kinda shit.”

 

* * *

 

Pidge’s gaze bores into the side of Lance’s head.

He turns and glares at her. “ _What_?”

Pidge doesn't flinch, just keeps looking at him with her eyebrows knitted together and her chin on her palm. “You've been on this couch eating pints of ice cream for almost five hours and this is your third time watching The Notebook since you woke up.”

Lance’s frown deepens and he looks back at the screen with puffy red eyes. He can feel the tears welling up again when he sees Noah and Allie screaming at each other in the rain. A broken sob rips from his throat and he shoves another spoonful of dulce de leche ice cream into his mouth. They love each other _so_ much, they really–

“Hey!” he whines when the screen goes black. He whips his head to Pidge, who was pointing the remote at the TV without remorse.

“This fight affected you more than I thought it did,” she admits. Lance pauses as she continues with some visible level of discomfort, “I’m not really great at this stuff, but seeing you so sad kinda... makes me sad, too, I guess. And if you need to talk about it instead of drowning yourself in junk food and lame movies, then you can.”

Pidge scowls at her shoes under Lance’s stare. How the hell was Hunk so good at this emotional stuff? She felt like she was about to fall apart for even admitting that she cared.

Lance looks down at his hands. “I don't really want to talk about it anymore. I just,” he fiddles with his fingers, “need to cry on someone's shoulder.”

Pidge visibly relaxes, and she awkwardly offers, “My shoulders are small, but... they’re open for business?”

Lance immediately shuffles closer and slumps onto her arm like a limp noodle. “Okay,” she says, “Or you could do that, too.”

With his cheek smushed against her arm, Lance pouts. He brings up the hand that isn't crushed under his weight to tiredly rub his eye. “I shouldn't even be going nuts like this. Allura and I are supposed to go out tonight.”

“Better to get the juices out now than later, I guess,” Pidge supplies.

“Ew. Juices?”

“Bodily fluids."

“Ugh,” Lance laughs with disgust on his face, “That's even worse.”

“I’ll do you one better,” she proposes. “Eye piss.”

“Pidge!” he shrieks, “I’m trying to be sad and you're making my eyes shrivel up in horror.”

Pidge smiles with an evil glint in her eyes. “Then I’ve done my job.”

 

* * *

 

Keith has had a pretty bad week. And these days he starts to feel shitty after walking through front doors, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Hunk hastily scurry behind a corner as soon as he stepped into his apartment.

Keith doesn’t even know how to process what he just saw. “ _Hunk_?”

Hunk peeks out from the corner of the wall, looking like he was just caught redhanded in some deplorable act that Keith can’t imagine he’s capable of doing.

“Hey,” Hunk says meekly. He steps out fully, and the dirtied apron he’s sporting only confuses Keith even more. Keith suddenly realizes there’s an aroma coming from the kitchen and swipes his mouth when it starts to water.

“What the hell are you—Oh my god,” Keith cuts himself off, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of food—Delicious, amazing, well-cooked food. After his night with Shiro, he remembered why he appreciated an edible home cooked meal so _fucking_ much.

Keith points a finger towards the kitchen. “Are you... Is that for me?”

Hunk smiles shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were not supposed to be home this early.”

Keith lunges forward to make a beeline to the kitchen, then grunts when Hunk tackles him before he can get more than three feet into the hall. “Ah-bup-bup!” Hunk squeezes the life out of him, “Not yet!”

Keith writhes aggressively in Hunk’s arms. “Why not!?”

“Because, first and foremost,” Hunk lets go and Keith awkwardly stumbles out of the grasp, “I need you to stay right there while I set the table.”

“Set the table?” Keith repeats. He blinks rapidly. “What’s going on? I mean, why are you... doing this for me?”

“I’m not!” Hunk protests, shaking a disapproving finger at him. Then his face drops into a look of consideration. “Actually, well, maybe I am—But the point is, don’t think everything’s all good here, man!”

Keith’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, and Hunk continues ardently, “Lance has been crying into my chest the whole week! On my good shirts! They are _all_ stained with heartbreak. Heartbreak, Keith.”

“I—Seriously?”

Hunk glares at him, and Keith realizes that might not have sounded like a good response out loud. “I’m sorry, I just,” Keith takes a deep breath to compose himself. “I didn’t know he was so... hurt.”

“Keith, I love you, man–” Keith doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to his friends saying that. “–but he’s been hurting since before your fight. And I _know_ you don’t mean to do anything bad, so for now all I’m gonna say is to talk to him.”

“He’s the one that's been avoiding _me_!”

“Yeah,” Hunk’s lip curls in displeasure. “He’s dumb for that.”

Keith is about to reply when he hears a strangled shout come from the hallway outside the apartment. Keith and Hunk crane their necks to peer at the front door.

“I don’t wanna g—What do you mean _date_!? _ALLURA_ –”

Lance is shoved unceremoniously into the apartment and crashes onto his knees, scrambling back up when the door slams shut to desperately pull at the doorknob. He shoots a terrified look over his shoulder and meets Keith’s eyes. Lance makes a noise that sounds like a dying raccoon.

Keith’s hand shoots up to his hair, suddenly considering his appearance. At least now he knows why Shiro tried to force him into a dress shirt and pants before he’d left; they must’ve all been in on it. Lance was dressed in his nicest jeans, and Keith’s heart catches at the way his hair curls from under his beanie. And here Keith is, hair unbrushed, in worn out joggers, scratched up slides, and looking far too much like he’d rolled out of the wrong side of bed. He makes a mental note to appreciate the little things Shiro does to help him so that he doesn’t make a fucking fool out of himself.

“Hi,” Keith says, a bit louder than necessary.

Lance pointedly ignores it and regards Hunk, who’s looking everywhere but the situation in front of him. “Hunk, what’s going on?” Then in a frantic whisper, “What am I doing here right now!?”

“Right,” Hunk says, like he just remembered what he was doing. He vaguely gestures toward the both of them, “You two stay here, do not move, and I’ll be back in five minutes!”

Keith watches Hunk disappear into the dining room. The sight holds a similar energy to watching your saving grace slip out of your grasp. His feet are rooted to the spot and his chest feels like someone just dropped a giant weight into it. His throat goes unbearably dry all of a sudden, so he gulps hard. Lance sighs irately from behind him and Keith can spot him move from the corner of his eye.

Lance scuffs the heel of his shoe into the hardwood floor. “So,” he says timidly, “What have you... been up to.”

Keith finally turns his head and looks Lance square in the eye.

Lance startles, taken aback. “I mean I don’t really c-care, I was just curious, so you don’t have to answer or anything, because you-you’ve probably been super occupied with working at the theater and all your labs and—forget it, I just answered my own fucking question,” he grumbles the last part.

Against all odds, Keith manages to maintain a neutral facade. “I haven’t really been busy this week. Actually, I feel like I’ve had so much time to myself that I don’t know what to do with it,” he confesses, but it’s worth it to see Lance’s face light up in red.

Keith wants to tell him that he's making a really stupid face, but Hunk jumps back into the hall and gestures toward where he just emerged, beaming proudly. “Your table awaits, gentlemen,” he smoothly announces.

Keith steps aside for Lance, waiting for him to go first, but Lance just raises an eyebrow at him. “It's your apartment.”

“Right,” Keith says stiffly, and walks to his dining room without looking back. He'd rather not hear Lance's footsteps trailing behind him.

When he looks over his shoulder, Lance is not only already at his side, but shares the same level of surprise at the scene before them—At least, judging by the dumbstruck expression he’s sporting.

The small table was set with a cloth that Keith doesn't remember ever owning (Maybe it was Hunk’s? He has no fucking idea.) with two chairs opposite of each other. There’s a few candles of varying sizes at the center. The dim flames set the room in warm lighting, which would have been more romantic if not for the heavy, raging tension in the air that Keith swore had vanished for a second back there. Lance’s favorite fancy dish was chicken alfredo, and it was set in front of one of the chairs, hot, steamy and fresh out the pot, with a glass of... wine?

Impulse shoots up Keith’s spine and he brings the glass to his nose and sniffs.

“Keith,” Lance says exasperatedly.

Keith sets the glass back down. It's cranberry juice.

“Sit down, you two,” Hunk urges, ushering them to their respective seats.

Keith sits down and lo and behold; Hunk prepared _his_ favorite dish, a thick slab of steak. The drool is making a fast reappearance. He swipes his mouth again, and squares his shoulders to at least give off the impression that he had his shit together and totally wasn't afraid of making an absolute moron out of himself. But his tight posture sags when he sees that Lance isn't even paying attention to him, just ogling his plate of food like he hasn't eaten in days.

“Well.” Hunk claps his hands together. “Bone apple tea.”

Lance groans. “Get out of my sight, dude.”

“I hope you crazy kids enjoy,” Hunk says, giving them a polite smile as he inches away from the table, “Remember to clean up. Have fun, but not _too_ much fun–”

Lance drops his spoon so quickly Keith flinches. “Never mind, can you please stay?”

Keith rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his cranberry juice.

Hunk laughs quick and loud, and salutes before he grabs his messenger bag and dashes out the front door.

Lance and Keith were left in an excruciating, deafening silence.

Keith puts the glass down, and swears the sound of its base being set atop the fabric of the tablecloth was louder than an air horn being blown directly in his ear. He wants to clear his throat again but any sound in the room right now would literally shatter his eardrums. He looks up when he hears metal scratching against a plate and sees Lance mechanically feeding himself, and—holy shit, his skin looks smoother than usual. Keith shakes his head, regathers his composure, and rips his attention away from Lance and back to his food.

Minutes pass by, and Keith thinks the soundless atmosphere might be slowly driving him mad. After what feels like hours of inactivity, Lance meets his gaze for barely a second before snapping his eyes away stubbornly. In doing do, his arm jerked with the movement and his spoon slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor with an ear-shattering clank.

The spoon had skidded over to Keith's side, and he bends forward, muttering, “I'll get it.”

“No.”

Keith freezes, and then slowly pulls his eyes up at Lance, baffled.

“Leave it,” Lance says, picking up a fork to resume pushing around his pasta. This action would have been absolutely harmless, if not for the fact that Keith knows Lance likes to eat pasta with a spoon for whatever ungodly reason, and Lance doesn't want Keith to give him the spoon purely because of his incessant need to prove he's winning the argument. And Keith—something in Keith ignites. It feels almost like a challenge, something so small yet so boisterous, enough to get the message across that Lance is assuming the upper hand.

Keith considers for a moment, and then snatches the spoon anyway, tossing it haphazardly toward Lance’s side. The spoon bounces roughly against the tablecloth, and Lance’s movements falter as he stares at it, incredulous.

Keith picks up his knife and cuts aggressively into his steak. “There you go.”

Lance blinks at him, his jaw flexing in a way that makes Keith repress a smirk.

Keith chews nonchalantly and waves his hand innocently. “You got something to say?”

“Even if I did,” Lance says under his breath, stabs the penne with his fork, “You wouldn't fucking listen.”

“I'm sorry,” Keith feigns sincerity, leaning over, “You're gonna have to speak up a bit.”

This might be the moment were Lance’s resolve starts to crack, because Keith can spot a wrinkle in his brow and the way the tendons in his hand protrude with how tight he’s gripping the fork.

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith. “Are you _trying_ to piss me off?”

“Maybe I am,” Keith blurts, scowling at his feet under the table. “It’s only fair. You’ve been trying to piss me off all week by avoiding me.”

“Not really,” Lance denies, and then contemplates it for a moment. “Okay, maybe pissing you off was a bonus.”

Keith’s lips form a thin line, and he bites his tongue with the restraint of a thousand men. When Lance latches onto a petty streak, it's hard to shake him out of it. He loses himself, gets childish, so then _Keith_ gets childish, and up until now it's never gone far enough for them to argue with this much gravity, but Keith could tell that Lance is being egged on by his desire to emerge triumphant, as if allowing Keith to pass him a spoon is somehow a sign of defeat. It's a fucking spoon.

“So then,” Keith says rigidly, “What was the... _point_ of avoiding me?”

Lance's posture stiffens, and Keith doesn’t understand why he’s still holding his fork, because he hasn’t taken a bite out of his food in the last ten minutes. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Keith scoffs. “You don’t know?”

“All I know,” Lance glares at Keith from beneath his eyelashes, “is that _one_ of us here has been a giant asshole lately, and it’s not me.”

A spark of irritation shoots through Keith's spine. “Why was I an asshole for wanting space?” he demands.

Lance shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth, and Keith is actually relieved. If he had to watch Lance push his food around for another half hour he would probably go insane.

“If spafe ish what you needed,” Lance swallows his food, “you could've just said so.”

“I thought that was already established,” Keith is raising his voice, “Or do I have to ask you for permission whenever I want time to myself?”

Lance squints at him like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. “No! I'm saying that you should _tell_ me when you want that, not completely disappear for a few hours in the middle of the night and act like I shouldn't give a shit!”

Keith rubs his temple. “Lance, I’m not a fucking infant.”

“No one’s saying you are!”

Keith’s anger flares with every wild gesticulation Lance makes. “It sure feels like it!”

Lance lets out a frustrated groan and his clenched fists tremble on either side of his plate. “Here you go _again_!” Keith opens his mouth to speak but Lance’s hand shoots up to stop him. “No, seriously, should I even call myself your boyfriend? Is that what you want? Is the label _too much_?”

Keith's jaw tightens, and his eyes start to sting. “Shut the fuck up, Lance.”

Lance looks so hurt, it makes Keith want to rip his own heart out. “No,” Lance says with a watery voice, “I’m tired of dealing with this!”

Keith can’t believe what he's hearing right now. His blood runs hot under his skin, and he snaps. “You’re making _yourself_ out to be the victim!?” he asks furiously, his face twisting in shock. “Have you even put an ounce of thought into what _I_ feel? What _I’ve_ been going through? All you think about is yourself!”

“That’s not true!” Lance shouts back. “How can you say that!? I think of you all the time and you don’t even seem to care about—about—" Lance pants like he's been running a marathon, feverish and winded.

Keith’s throat goes dry. “You think I don’t–”

“You don’t!” Lance accuses, eyes filling to the brim with tears. “I’ve put in _so_ much effort into showing you how much I care about you, and every single time I do, you brush it off like it’s nothing! You just don't–” Lance’s voice breaks off with a crack. He covers his eyes, mouth curling, and he whispers brokenly, “You don’t feel the same way I do.”

Keith sucks in a breath. He’s quiet as Lance sniffles behind his palms for a full, steady minute. Lance snatches the napkin by his fork and knife, lightly dabs his face with his eyes skyward. He hates the sight of Lance with tear tracks on his face, his cheeks and nose dark with a blush so fierce it could burn him alive. He struggles to shove down the urge to reach out and wipe the tears away himself, kiss away his pout.

“I thought you were going to leave me,” Keith blurts, tripping over a lump in his throat. “I thought I couldn’t give you want you wanted and you were going to leave me. I–”

Tears spill out of Lance’s eyes as soon as he sets the napkin down, and he retreats back to behind his hands. “I’d never leave you,” he whimpers, “God, never.”

Keith’s eyebrows strain and he can feel the lump in his throat rising into a sob, but he pushes it back down and says hopelessly, “I just want you back, Lance.”

Lance folds his arms on the table and drops his head down, whining, “I’m sorry.”

Keith doesn’t respond fast enough, so Lance launches into a tangent.

“I shouldn’t have put the blame on you. I was just caught up in my own feelings and it’s not fair for me to hold you responsible for how _I_ feel. I put myself before you, and that’s not right. I should’ve respected your space, even if you need... a lot of it. And I know I can be clingy and suffocating, I know it’s overwhelming, and I didn’t even _consider_ how much pressure I was putting on you–”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Keith forces out, before he loses his nerve. His fists, sweaty and tense, clench and unclench by his sides. “It’s just—I know I tend to act like I don’t care and it’s—You have to know I do, you have to know th-that I care, but I—God, I’m _so sorry_ –”

“No, no, hey,” Lance rushes around the table and fits himself onto Keith’s lap, cradling his jaw with both hands. Keith melts into the touch, wishes Lance could hold him forever, kiss him forever. How could he not care? Lance is giving him the most forgiving look he's ever seen and all at once it's like Keith has gone a century without him, without seeing that softness in Lance's eyes. “I’m just saying that I should’ve understood. I know it’s hard for you,” Lance murmurs, eyes casting downward. “I was being selfish.”

“Kind of,” Keith admits, smirking when Lance shoots him a indignant glare. “But... I’m sorry I left you hanging after you told me you loved me.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I should've seen the way it affected you. I should've...” He looks down, thumbing the hem of Lance’s shirt, “showed you how I felt. I was being ignorant.”

“Kind of,” Lance parrots mockingly.

The corner of Keith's mouth twitches. “We were both wrong.”

“I _guess_ I can admit I was being dumb, too.” Lance brushes Keith’s hair away from his eyes and lets his hand linger on the hot skin of Keith’s jaw. Lance worries his bottom lip. “You don’t have to say it back. Okay? I just wanted you to know how I felt. That's enough for me.”

“Lance, I just...”

Keith stares at him for a long, drawn out moment, and Lance pauses, unsure of why he stopped talking. Keith can't even believe his heart is still beating so fast when he leans forward and presses his lips to Lance’s. Lance sighs, and moves his jaw to deepen the kiss, palms cupping Keith's face. Their lips smack as Keith pulls back slightly, and then goes back with more purpose. He kisses Lance with everything he has, makes sure that he gets his point across tenfold, and that he's stolen all the air out of Lance's lungs by the time they break apart.

Lance plants one last soft kiss on Keith's lips and breathes deep with their foreheads together, grinning brightly. “Glad you understand that I need constant validation to stay alive.”

“What about food?”

“Food could wait. I need love.” He lies his head on Keith’s shoulder and closes his eyes, mumbling, “Yours, specifically.”

Keith, with his chest warm and soft, snakes his arms around Lance’s middle and laces his hands together. “You’re my everything,” he declares quietly, like it’s a secret between them, and Lance's heart flutters. “I’d kill a man for you. Happy?”

Lance knits his eyebrows together. “The ‘killing a man’ part is a little scary, but oddly flattering and kinda hot.”

He laughs against Lance’s hair. “I’d do anything for you.”

Lance trails a finger down Keith’s throat, and asks lowly, “Anything?”

His skin lights on fire under Lance’s touch, his breaths suddenly stuttering. “Anything.”

Lance hugs tight around Keith’s neck and beams. “Great! Because I talked to the guys who work at the barber shop just off campus and they said they know how to trim mullets— _Ow_!” Lance’s side stings where Keith pinched him. He weakly swats Keith’s shoulder.

Keith just smiles into Lance’s hair, breathing him in like oxygen. It's comforting that they ended up here, he thinks, together. Keith splays his fingers across Lance’s lower back, feeling his warmth under his hands.

“I love you,” Lance says in a tiny, wavering voice, like the words have so much power that they might break him. His fingers tighten in Keith’s shirt. “I really do. I love you so much.”

How could he not care, when this perfect man is in his arms with all the love he has to give and offering it freely, unconditionally? There’s no other place he’d rather be than here, where Lance’s body molds into his like clay, very real and very much _his._ It’s so real—Keith remembers why he can’t breathe when Lance looks at him.

He pulls Lance impossibly closer, just in case he slips away. “I love you, too,” he pours out with his heart, “more than you know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so soft i'm gonna expldoe
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! my hands bled rainbows for this
> 
> tumblr [here](http://ribosomegirl.tumblr.com/)


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